The Twisted Road to You (Perfect, Indiana Book 4) Read online

  Trees and brush grew alongside the lane, and leaves still clung to some of the branches. Good. Cover was good. About a quarter of a mile from the small white house, he pulled over and parked his Chevy in the dry grass beside a gnarled blackberry thicket. If Carlie was in trouble, he didn’t want the bad guy to see him coming.

  Carlie’s old Ford Escape was parked in the driveway, alongside a late-model sedan. Now he knew for certain she wasn’t alone. He gripped the steering wheel, and his mouth went dry. What if she’s with a lover and just forgot to set her alarm clock? His chest tightened, and the familiar burn of betrayal scorched him. What? Let it go. He had no business putting that on her. Carlie had every right to see whomever she wanted. It wasn’t like he’d ever made a move on her or even asked her out for coffee. Nope. Their association started and ended in the diner.

  Wes helped his dog down and gripped the leash. Keeping close to the side of the road, taking cover where he could, he moved slowly toward the house. Once he was within range, he pulled out his cell phone, snapped a picture of the unfamiliar car and license plate and sent them in a text to Sheriff Taylor’s cell phone number. Just in case.

  Using the parked vehicles for cover, he crouched low and made his way to the corner of the house. Then he crept along the foundation until he reached the bay window to the right of the front door. He heard an angry male voice on a rant.

  Man, what he’d give right now for some of the high-tech surveillance gear he’d had access to while deployed. Holding his breath, he rose slowly and peered through the window. What he saw stopped his heart cold. Carlie and her little boy sat huddled together on the couch. A man paced in front of them, waving a wicked-looking combat knife in the air. Carlie’s right eye had swollen shut, and her lower lip bled where it had been split. Wes dropped back down, swore under his breath and focused on listening.

  “You and the kid belong to me, Kara. We’re a family. You had no right to take my son from me. No. Right. You and Tyler can either come with me today or I end you now. After what you did to me, I should end you. Worthless bitch, with or without you, I’m not leaving this hellhole without my boy. You hear me? I’m taking my son.”

  Kara?

  Carlie responded. Her voice was too low for him to hear what she said, but he could detect the note of pleading. Rage exploded in his chest. What kind of man beat a woman, threatened to end them and terrorized their kid?

  Wesley unleashed Rex, gave him the hand signal to heel and circled around to the back of the house. He prayed he’d find the back door unlocked. Folks in Perfect rarely locked their houses, especially out in the country. If he was lucky, he could sneak in and capture the enemy before the guy even knew he and Rex were there.

  Slowly, he pulled the screen door open and checked. Not his lucky day. Damn. The back door had been locked, probably by the asswipe terrorizing Carlie and her son. Stepping back, he drew his gun, undid the safety and sized up the door. One kick, and a resounding crack filled the air. The wood frame splintered around the piece-of-crap dead bolt, and the door swung wide.

  “Get ’em, Rex,” he commanded. Growling, his dog shot through the house. Wes followed. “Drop your weapon,” he shouted, gun raised. Rex slipped on the polished wood floor. The dog went down and scrabbled to recover. The slip gave the bad guy the seconds he needed to sprint out the front door. Rex followed on his heels, and Wesley ran out after them. The guy managed to slide into his car, but Rex had him by the ankle, and he wasn’t letting go. The car started. The man put the sedan in reverse and gunned the engine, dragging Rex alongside the vehicle.

  “Rex, out,” Wes called, aiming his Beretta. He didn’t want Rex getting caught under the tires—or by a bullet. Rex let go, and Wesley fired. He missed the tire, and the bullet pinged against the hubcap. He fired again—and missed. The car door slammed shut, and the car peeled off in a wave of gravel and dust.

  “Heel,” Wes called. Rex trotted toward him, stiff legged, with his ruff still standing on end. His heart hammering against his rib cage, Wes put the Beretta’s safety back on and shoved the gun back into his belt. “Good dog,” he crooned, scratching the dog behind his ears, giving Rex the reward he sought for a job well done. The shepherd’s ruff settled, and his tail wagged. Wes snatched his cell phone from his pocket and called Sheriff Taylor. “This is Wesley Holt—”

  “I ran the license plate. The vehicle is stolen,” Taylor said without preamble.

  “Figures.” Wesley ran a hand over his buzz cut. “A man had Carlie and her son at knifepoint. He’s gone now. Took off in the stolen car. She’s been beat up, and I overheard the guy threaten to kill her and take her son.” He turned back to stare at the house.

  “On my way,” Sheriff Taylor said. “I’ll put out an all-points bulletin with the vehicle description. Will you remain on site until I arrive?”

  “Hell, yes.” Wesley eyed the open front door. “I’m not leaving.” For now, Carlie and her son were safe. Wesley planned to see that they stayed that way, no matter what it took. He and Rex headed for the house. He had no idea how to comfort Carlie and her boy after such a trauma, but he’d do his best. He just hoped his best was enough.

  “Rex, drop.” The dog plopped to his belly on the rug inside the front door, his ears pricked up for any sign of danger. Wes couldn’t bear the hurt and fear he saw in Carlie’s pretty blue eyes, and seeing her lovely face so battered and bruised turned him inside out. His hands curled into fists. He wanted to inflict the same damage and worse on the scumbag who’d split her lip and put that frozen-in-fear look on her little boy’s face.

  “Sheriff Taylor is on his way. I’ll be right back.” He went to the kitchen, opened the freezer and snatched a bag of frozen corn. He returned to the living room and handed it to her. “That man . . . he’s your ex?” Her eyes filled, and his gut tied itself into a painful twist.

  Carlie nodded. She pressed the bag of frozen corn to her face and drew her son closer to her side with her free arm. “You saved my life, Wesley. If . . . if you hadn’t—”

  “Glad to help.” Wes crouched down in front of the two of them, eye level with the kid. “Hey, I’m Wesley Holt, a friend of your mom’s. You OK there, buddy?” The little guy’s face had lost all color, and his eyes didn’t seem to focus until he spoke to him.

  The boy glanced at Carlie and then at Wes. “I”—his chin quivered—“I had a accident.” Color rushed back into his face.

  Wes patted the kid’s knee. “Happens to the best of us.” He reached out to touch Carlie’s cheek but stopped himself. He wanted to gather her up and hold her until she stopped trembling, until she knew she was safe in his arms, but they weren’t on a touching basis. Instead, he placed his hands on the couch on either side of the two, encircling them as closely as he dared. He met her eyes. “You OK?”

  She shook her head. “No, but I will be, thanks to you. Come on, Tyler. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

  Wes rose and reached down to help her up. She dropped the bag of corn on the couch and placed her hand in his. His breath hitched, and a frisson of heat coursed through him at the skin-on-skin contact. He steadied her once she was on her feet. Her tears had started in earnest, and helpless frustration stirred him to a froth. He needed something to do with his hands—something that would keep him from wrapping his arms around the woman who tugged at the ragged edges of his soul the way she did.

  “You have accidents?” Tyler stared up at Wes, saucer eyed.

  Grateful for the distraction, Wes nodded. “I’ve had one or two, sure. It’s natural to be afraid when you’re being threatened, and sometimes that fear causes a man to lose control.” The child’s face relaxed a little, and Wesley’s heart turned over in his chest.

  “You coming with me and my mom to my room, Mr. Holt?” Tyler’s gaze turned to the shadowy hallway between the living room and the kitchen.

  “You can call me Wes.” He peered down at the little boy whose blue eyes were so much like his mother’s. Tyler gripped Carlie’s hand with doub
le-fisted tenacity, like he was afraid she might disappear if he let her go.

  “I thought I’d stay here in the living room and keep an eye on things,” he told the kid.

  Tyler’s face went pale again, and his eyes filled with panic. He couldn’t even imagine what it must be like for Carlie’s son right now. He’d seen his mom get beaten up, and the little guy had heard his dad say he planned to end his mother’s life. Wes’s jaw tightened, and a lump clogged his throat. Not right. Not right at all.

  Wes backpedaled. “On second thought, how about I stick close to you and your mom? You and I would make a pretty good team, don’t you think?”

  Tyler nodded, and his shoulders unbunched a fraction. Wes followed the two down the hall to Tyler’s bedroom. Dark blue walls with glow-in-the-dark planets and stars appliquéd all over the surface greeted him. A matching bedspread covered the twin bed of the cozy, little-boy bedroom. He stood at the door so that he could keep the two of them in his sights.

  “Get what you need, Ty. I’m going to go fill the tub.” Carlie gently pushed her son toward the dresser, and then she left for the bathroom.

  Wes couldn’t tear his eyes from her. Petite and curvy, she was dressed in her snug black jeans—the best part of the uniform she wore for work—and a long-sleeved white T-shirt. He hated seeing her shoulders so slumped and defeated. He hated that her ex had stolen the smile from her pretty face and the light from those heart-stopping blue eyes of hers. The need to protect her had him itching once again to drag her into his arms.

  Shoving his hands into his back pockets, he turned his attention back to Tyler’s room. A wide bookshelf crammed full with books and toys caught his eye. He imagined Carlie reading to her son at bedtime. Wesley’s mom had never read to him or his brothers and sisters. By the time she finished her day cleaning other people’s houses, she was exhausted. It was the same with his dad, who worked at a tool and die company.

  His parents had worked long, hard hours to keep their large family afloat. They were good people, and he never doubted their love for each other, or for their six children, but it had never been easy. Still, as tough as it was, neither of his parents had ever raised a hand in anger against each other or their children. They’d always been a close, loving family, and he counted his blessings where they were concerned. As the oldest, Wes had been the one to read to his brothers and sisters, help with homework, clean and bandage scraped knees and dole out the PB&J sandwiches for lunch.

  Tyler opened dresser drawers, pulled out clean jeans and a pair of briefs with some kind of superhero printed on them. Wes’s chest took on a whole new ache, this one churning with anger. The little guy’s sense of safety and security had been ripped to shreds. No child should have to live in fear, and when the source of that fear is one of the people you should be able to trust the most? Well, that just made it a thousand times worse. “All set?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Let’s go, partner.” He took the bundle of clean clothes from the boy and held out his hand. Tyler tucked his small hand in his, and again Wesley’s heart wrenched.

  The sound of a siren grew close—Sheriff Taylor, no doubt. Carlie met Wesley and Tyler outside the bathroom. “That will be the sheriff.” He squeezed the little boy’s hand. “I have to go meet the sheriff, but I’ll be back.” He handed Carlie the clothes and left Tyler with his mother. Then he walked through the house and out the front door to wait.

  The sheriff’s SUV raced down the country road, lights pulsing and the siren breaking the peace and quiet of the autumn rural landscape. The incongruence brought a frown to his face. The sound of a siren and the sight of flashing lights didn’t happen very often in Perfect, Indiana, and when they did, it was usually due to a car accident or some act of stupidity on the part of the local adolescents. Wes crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against Carlie’s Ford.

  The vehicle barreled down the gravel driveway, coming to a sudden halt a scant few yards away from where he stood. Paul Taylor, the sheriff of Warrick County, climbed out, clipboard in hand. He shook Wesley’s hand. “Hey, Wes, I appreciate your help. Is everything secure here?”

  “For now.” Wesley gave him a description of Carlie’s ex and filled him in on the details of what he’d witnessed and heard. When he finished, the two of them walked toward the house together. They found Carlie waiting for them, with her son stuck to her side like he’d been fastened there with Velcro. Rex’s head came up from his paws, looking to him for direction. He motioned for him to stay, and the dog let out a long sigh and dropped his head to his paws again, clearly disappointed by the lack of action.

  “Jared violated the restraining order I have against him,” Carlie said, slipping a legal-looking document from the manila folder she held against her chest. She handed it to the sheriff. “I . . . he shouldn’t be out of prison yet. He . . . he’s not eligible. No one notified me that he was out. They were supposed to let me know.” Her voice held an edge of fear.

  Sheriff Taylor gestured toward the couch. “Let’s sit down, Ms. Stewart. We can start from the beginning.”

  Nodding, Carlie and her boy moved to the couch. The sheriff took the chair in the corner, and Wes remained standing. Prison? Her ex had called her Kara. Was she in some kind of witness protection program or something? “So, violating a restraining order, assault with a weapon and car theft—if he is on parole, he’s pretty much blown it, right?” Wesley arched a brow in question.

  “I have my deputies out looking for the stolen vehicle, and hopefully he’ll still be in it. I’ve also notified the neighboring counties. Now that I know who he is, we can issue a warrant, though I suspect there may already be one outstanding.”

  Sheriff Taylor and Carlie got down to business, and Wesley scanned the yard from where he stood, looking for any movement in the surrounding fields and forest that might indicate the bad guy had circled back. The thought that Carlie’s ex might be out there watching and waiting sent a chill down his spine. Her place was too damned isolated—too far from help should she need it.

  “Thank you for the picture, Ms. Stewart. This will help. I have everything I need for now.” The sheriff rose from his chair. “We’ll have a deputy parked in your yard tonight in case your ex returns.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate it.” Carlie set the folder down on the couch and rose with the sheriff, walking with him to the door. “I didn’t have my house locked. I’ll keep both doors locked from now on—and the windows.”

  Wes shook his head. “I wrecked the back door.” He pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll see that it’s replaced today, along with a better dead bolt than the one you had before. Do you have a tape measure?”

  “I do,” Carlie said before heading down the hall.

  The minute his mom left the room, Tyler moved to Wes’s side and reached for his hand. Wes took it and gave him a reassuring squeeze. “I’ve got it covered here, Sheriff. I’ll bring Carlie and Tyler with me when I go for a new door. They won’t be alone, and her ex knows I’m armed. I took a couple of shots at his tires.” He shrugged. “I’m out of practice. Missed both times.” He’d have to make a point to get to a shooting range to practice.

  “I’m going to assume you have a permit for that handgun.” The sheriff’s brow lowered.

  “Of course I do.”

  “This is the moment where I have to tell you officially to stay out of police matters. Unofficially, though, the Warrick County sheriff’s department is undermanned and lacking resources. We don’t even have our own SWAT team anymore. I have to call on Evansville to have their team come out when we need it. I can’t really spare the manpower to keep a deputy here around the clock. I appreciate your willingness to keep an eye on Ms. Stewart and her son. Just don’t turn any more vigilante than you already have today. Got it?”

  “Got it.” Not really. If Carlie’s ex crossed his path, he’d do what needed to be done to render the guy senseless until the sheriff could come and haul the piece of human garbage away.

&nbs
p; The sheriff attached his pen to the clipboard. “I’ll be in touch.” He opened the door. “I’ll have a deputy parked in her drive by the time you get back. Call me on my cell if you catch sight of Carlie’s ex.”

  “Will do.” Paul left, and Wes hit speed dial one-handed for L&L. Tyler still clung to him, and he wasn’t about to let go of the kid.

  “Langford & Lovejoy,” Paige Malloy answered. “What can we build for you today?”

  “Hey, Paige. This is Wes. I need to talk to Noah.”

  “I heard Carlie is missing. Is everything all right?”

  “For now.” He frowned. “Man, news travels fast in Perfect. How’d you hear?”

  “Jenny called to talk to Noah. I just happened to be the one who answered the phone. She didn’t say much, only that Carlie was missing from work this morning and you were checking things out. We figured something might be wrong when the sheriff raced through town with his siren blasting.”

  He glanced at the folder Carlie had set on the couch. “I need to talk to Noah—or Ted, if your brother isn’t available.”

  “What’s going on? Did you find Carlie and her son?”

  “I did. They’re fine for now, but I need some help with—”

  “You’ve got it. I’ll get my brother. Hold on.”

  Carlie returned to the living room with the tape measure. With the phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder, and Tyler’s hand in his, Wes headed for the door he’d busted. Noah came on the line, and Wes gave him the short version of what had happened. “I need to install a new door and dead bolt at Carlie’s, and I could use a hand.”

  “I’ll help,” Noah said. “Do we need a new frame?”

  Wesley eyed the mess he’d made. “Afraid so, and I don’t want to go the prehung route. The door she had on here before kicked in way too easily. I’d like to do some reinforcing with a new door and a good solid frame.”